


Cocktail of Disaster

by Rhysanoodle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysanoodle/pseuds/Rhysanoodle
Summary: Elain Archeron has been pining after Azriel for longer than she cares to admit. A mysterious new marking on his neck has her close to boiling over.An angsty/smutty collab I did with@verifiefangirlover on Tumblr. It was so much fun to work on together!
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 120





	Cocktail of Disaster

Three days. Azriel had sported a hickey on his neck for _three fucking days_ , and Elain was at the end of her rope.

The worst part had been the endless time her brain had spent in a tailspin, imagining all the many ways he could have gotten it—and who he may have gotten it from.

It was no secret that the Illyrians had had a “boys day” that day and had gone out for drinks after sparring, but Rhys had come home alone, having parted ways with his brothers at Rita’s. So it could have been anyone—a one-night stand, a secret girlfriend, or seemingly more likely with every second Elain had to watch them from across the crowded bar, Morrigan.

It wasn’t that Elain didn’t like Mor. The other female had actually become one of her closest friends, but she could never forget the lost look Azriel seemed to don every time the other female was around. 

She had thought perhaps his interest had been waning in recent years, but here the two of them were, heads together in some sort of conversation that they didn’t seem keen on letting anyone overhear, just blatantly ignoring the rest of the family.

To say Elain Archeron was incensed was an understatement. She has never felt this kind of rage boiling in her blood before, like with a mere glance, she could set someone aflame. The wine glass she held in her fingers threatened to break under her iron grasp as Mor’s luscious blonde hair flowed around her with her head thrown back in a boisterous laugh. It seemed every pair of eyes was on the third in command. 

Downing her third glass that night, she tore her gaze away from the pair and onto Cassian, who slid into the seat beside her. The Commander had an insufferable smirk on his face. 

“Everything alright, Miss Archeron?” He arched an eyebrow in Azriel’s direction. A snarl ripped out of her, a sound she had never even produced before. _Gods above._

“Don’t you have better things to do than annoy another Archeron sibling?” She hadn’t meant for her reply to be so barbed, but Cassian seemed unruffled. His eyes strayed over to the direction to where her gaze had been a mere second ago. 

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” he questioned, face sobering for a second. Her fist clenched again. She never despised Azriel for his shrouded mystery and secrets but in that moment, all she wanted to know was how long they had been together for. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her reply was clipped, her eyes feigning ignorance. His barked laughter almost startled her. 

“My brother is in deep shit indeed,” he said, shaking his head with that private smile still plastered across his lips. 

She watched as Azriel ordered another round for their table and Mor's fingers went to the collar of his tunic, straightening the rumpled fabric, her fingers brushing against that tanned neck and midnight hair that gobbled all the light in the room. Every muscle in her body tensed at the gesture. Scenes of them together assaulted her senses. 

She imagined Mor’s brown eyes swirling with lust as she lay under the Shadowsinger with his large wings flared out behind him. Pleasure plastered across their features as those roughened, scarred hands roamed freely over her exposed flesh, bodies writhing together in sync. This time the glass in her hand really did shatter. 

Azriel’s eyes darted to her in alarm, as Cassian yelled, “Shit!” jumping back from the counter to avoid the debris. “You could really take someone’s eye out with that, Ellie.”

And indeed, Elain now realized that she hadn’t managed to avoid the shrapnel. She’d been so shocked by the small explosion she’d caused that she hadn’t realized that there were shards of glass digging into the palm of her hand, and now that the shock was wearing off, it was beginning to sting incessantly.

About to burst into tears from the sudden burst of pain combined with the gut-wrenching images which were still flooding her mind, she bolted for the washroom, drowning in a rush of sudden humiliation.

She found it occupied, and was about to burst through the back door so she could run home when she felt a wave of cold wash over her, the bar behind her suddenly muted and whirled to find Azriel standing on the threshold of the hallway. His shadows darted protectively behind him, forming a sort of barrier between them and the cacophony in the next room.

He took one catlike step toward her, followed by another when she didn’t shrink from him. Before she could blink, he’d closed the gap, raising a weathered hand uncertainly. “May I?”

Elain gulped, extending the offending hand until it was cradled in his own, her traitorous eyes finding and lingering on the mark which had inadvertently caused all of this.

Azriel tsked, “Some of these are deep, Elain. I can’t treat these here.”

“Is it serious?” Elain winced, worried that she might have somehow made matters worse if she’d just shrugged the injuries off.

“Nothing a few stitches won’t mend.” Azriel’s face softened. “Do you mind if we go somewhere a bit quieter?”

Elain nodded her consent and almost instantly felt a penumbral shroud envelope her, keeping her tightly in its grasp until she was deposited in a small dimly-lit living space she’d never seen before.

He perched her on the edge of the bed, before coming back with a small box of medical sundry.

Azriel’s figure loomed over her. His large, calloused hands seemed to swallow hers up, his fingers being ever so gentle. Her heart felt like hummingbird wings as the pad of his thumb ghosted over her palms. 

His brows were furrowed with concentration, ebony hair sliding over his those hazel eyes which were filled with worry. She hadn’t even realized he had begun extracting some of the glass, too wrapped up in the enigma that was the spymaster. 

A hiss of pain escaped her mouth as he pulled out one of the larger pieces. He stilled immediately, looking up at her apologetically. She wanted to hold on to that anger that had been blazing inside of her before, but when he was touching her like this, so delicately and concernedly, it made it hard. 

“I’m sure someone else could have patched me up just fine.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but it seeped through anyway. She wanted to rip out Mor’s throat for even talking to the Shadowsinger tonight. Gods, what was wrong with her? 

“You seemed pretty occupied tonight anyway.” She sniffed. His brow arched at her questioningly. Her eyes darted back to that branding mark on his neck, and she fought the urge to snarl again. 

“I always have time for you,” he confessed, going back to the task at hand, his voice a low lilt in the softly lit room. His high cheekbones looking more pronounced by the shadows. Gods, he was beautiful—and not hers, she had to remind herself. 

“I bet that’s what to say to all the ladies,” she mumbled under her breath, but of course nothing slipped past the spymaster. The muscles in his jaw twitched as his eyes met hers once more. 

“Did I do something to offend you?” he asked outright. His face was shuttered with despair. She averted her gaze from his as the need to cry bubbled up inside her again. She pulled her hand away from his and started to withdraw away from him altogether.

“I’m fine,” she told him, standing up, causing him to rise as well as she turned her back to him. 

“Elain, what’s going on?” He sounded so confused and tormented as if he actually cared that she was upset with him. It was almost enough to make her waver, but her resolve stood strong. His hand gently broached her shoulder, forcing her to turn back towards him again. 

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “Not now. Not like this.” Her voice broke. “It’s not fair!” she cried out. 

He recoiled as if she had burned him like his brothers had. She had never spoken to Azriel like this, but he had to know she didn’t just seem him as a friend. That his touches didn’t mean the same thing as everyone else’s. Her insides felt like they were being shredded.

“Elain, please.” His voice was hoarse and uncertain. “If I’ve done something to hurt you, I’m sincerely sorry, but I don’t know what it was.”

She pondered his words, every fiber of her being aching for him even as she burned with the aftermath of what she’d watched this evening. How did he not see how his being with Mor would wound her? For the past few weeks, she’d thought … 

She shook her head to clear it, but Azriel clearly took that as a sign that she wasn’t going to tell him anything. “Will you at least allow me to finish cleaning up your hand? Then, I’ll take my leave of you, if you wish.”

Elain remained stunned silent, but proffered her hand, fighting the jolting sensation as his callouses brushed up against her bare flesh and allowing him to pull the remaining shards of glass out of her palm before he took out a hooked needle which had her recoiling.

“Relax. It won’t hurt any more than it already does, and one of these wounds is deep. I’ll give you some salve to apply afterwards, and I promise you’ll barely notice it.”

“Will it scar?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not the worst thing that can happen.”

Elain immediately paled. How could she forget about his own hands? Perhaps, it had been insensitive. But then again so was flaunting that marking on his neck in front of her.

She averted her gaze, preferring not to watch as he stitched up her broken skin, only cautiously returning her eyes to the male who so vexed her when she felt his fingers begin to rub a chilling salve over the offending area.

True to his word, the pain was already receding, and it broke through Elain’s walls enough for her to finally wonder aloud, “How do you know how to do this? Why do you have all of this?” She gestured to the healer’s toolkit spread open before him.

“I can’t go calling on Madja for every bump and bruise I get, or when I’m away on a mission. Turns out knowing how to make your own salves and stitch your own wounds comes in handy in my profession.”

Elain’s stomach turned. “Do you … need to do this often?” she asked, not knowing if she truly wanted to learn the answer.

“Often enough.” Azriel chuckled, his eyes glazing over as if he’d left the somber chamber they were both interminably stuck in for a moment. “I mean just the other day, Cassian gave me this,” he gestured loosely to the hickey, “And there was no way I was going to let him know how much it fucking stung so I just waited until I got home to treat it myself.”

“Cassian gave that to you?” Elain’s eyes had widened exorbitantly.

“Yeah, well, I mean, it happens all the time. Usually they’re in locations which are easier to hide, but what can you do? If I told him to stop, he’d just work me even harder.”

Her eyebrows were about to shoot off of her face, as she struggled to find even one coherent thought. “You two … How often?” It probably wasn’t her business to be prying like this, but now above the shock and humiliation, she was morbidly curious.

“Well, you know we train together most days so literally anytime he has a chance to wallop me with a practice blade, he’ll take it. Even if it’s a cheap shot.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Elain’s face was on fire, and she only barely noticed the tendril of shadow wrap around Azriel’s ear.

His head snapped up from where it had been focused on bandaging her hand. “Elain … What did you think this was?”

Damn him and the fact that eventually he would find a way to ferret out all of her secrets, and she now _desperately_ wished for these thoughts to be concealed. Forever.

He didn’t relent, just drowning her in that molten amber gaze which normally made her knees wobble until she caved.

“I thought … I thought it was a hickey,” Elain admitted in a voice which was practically a whisper.

She saw the gears turning as something light of recognition ignited within his eyes. “Is that why you were cross with me? You imagined I was with another female?”

Her cheeks were burning red, and she found she couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. 

“You’re free to do whatever. It’s obvious I have no more claim over you than any other female.” She shrugged. Azriel’s features were marred with disbelief. 

“Are … are … you saying you want claim over me?” His voice was raspy and guttered. Her brown eyes were a living ember as she scanned that face she knew as well as the back of her hand. She shoved his shoulder lightly, anger striking through her again. 

“I practically throw myself at you when you come back from missions like a bloody cat in heat,” she told him frustratedly, wanting to yank her hair out. 

“And all those times I asked you help me unlace my dress hoping you’d lose all inhibitions and slip those roughened hands where I yearned to feel them.” She slipped those said hands to the delicate arch of her neck, her heartbeat thrumming away. Her whole body was vibrating with need and longing for him. 

He looked like he was utterly struck stupid. She didn’t know if it was a good thing that he was stunned into silence. 

“ _That’s_ what that was about? I thought that was as friends?” 

Elain loosed a growl and her lips slanted over his roughly, practically drawing blood as she tugged on his bottom lip. 

“How is that you’re so intelligent, brave, and the Spymaster of the Night Court, and you’re this dense?” she asked, her eyes softening as she moulded her body to his. She tugged on his tunic so he could lower his hulking frame towards her. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered almost brokenly like this was dream and reality would come crashing in. “What about Lucien and th—“ 

“Shut up,” she ordered and tangled her fingers in his hair as her lips roved over that tanned throat she had been admiring earlier on. A tortured sound left the Shadowsinger’s mouth. His breathing stunted. She would be branding him so the whole of Velaris knew who he was to her. 

She felt his fingers tightened on the skirts of her dress. His broad palm splayed across her back. Her tongue snaked down that neck to those delicate collarbones, her fingers already unfastening the buttons. She heard him bark out a curse under his breath. 

_Azriel was in deep shit indeed_ , Elain thought as Cassian words floated back to her. 

“I’m yours, and you’re mine.” She rasped out, guiding his fingers to her own lacing. 

Stupefied. He was utterly stupefied. Those shadows snaked around her and came out to play, curious as she raked her fingers over his enormous wings. 

She delighted in how he shuddered beneath her ministrations, contemplating having another go at a particular spot in the crook of the wing Feyre had told her all about when he gasped out, “Please,” his fingers finishing their fumbling and fully freeing her bodice.

“Please, what?” she purred.

“I’ve only ever dreamed of this. Please tell me it’s not a dream,” he begged as she nipped at his neck, leaving a few claiming marks of her own, heat pooling within her at the little groans escaping him.

“It’s real. I’m real,” she murmured, slipping her arms out of her sleeves and letting her gown pool on the floor below.

“Thank the Cauldron.” His hands flew up to finish unbuttoning his shirt as hers tangled in his hair once more, their breaths mingling as he flung it across the room. 

Only seconds later his pants had joined it, and Elain found herself taking the initiative to push him onto the bed. She straddled him, lips grazing his before venturing to his chest as he breathed heavily beneath her.

Her hand slipped between them, finding him already ready for her. She stroked tauntingly a few times, lubricating her hand with his own moisture before guiding him to her entrance.

The rumors about wingspan were confirmed for her as she lowered herself onto him slowly, taking her time as she adjusted to him.

His hands moved to her hips, gentle guides as she began to move on him, relishing every stroke against his length as he filled her.

She rode him hungrily, focused narrowed solely on the Illyrian warrior pinned beneath her, wings drooping to the floor on either side of the mattress as she felt her body ignite from pleasure, the fire licking through her veins as she shattered around him.

It didn’t take long she felt his core tighten and heard him moan out his own completion.

Eventually his hands slowed, and Elain came to a halt atop him, chest heaving as she gazed greedily down at his own.

“What was that you were saying?” he panted, a smirk forming on his lips as he stared up at her.

“I’m yours.” Her fingers lazily traced one of the marks she’d left on his neck. “And _you’re mine_.”

* * *

The next day, when Cassian saw his brother, he gawked like a teenage Illyrian as he barked out, “I definitely didn’t give you all of those.” 

Azriel’s neck looked like it had gone to war, and he’d enjoyed that war very much.


End file.
